Ah well, since you insist ... [thought you'd never ask]. Once or twice a year, an old friend of my late husband and I used to meet up, in an Italian restaurant off Oxford St., London, for a lovely, boozy lunch where we reminisced about my darling husband - old friend was one of his oldest friends, from way back in the 1950s when old friend ran an ad. agency (very 'Mad Men') - husband had once had to fire agency, but they still remained friends.
We did used to get quite emotional [drunk] and sometimes tearful, showing each other photos of late husband, remembering loads of stuff about him. So after lunch, to cheer ourselve up, we'd stagger wander into Oxford St. to go shopping, saying it's what my late husband would have wanted (he would, too - he was a lovely, generous man). One day we went into Fenwicks, Bond St., and I decided I could do with some more undies. Old friend waited patiently outside changing rooms, while I tried stuff on.
I liked a very pretty and quite respectable bra (that was the time when I was a pert(ish) 34 something or other, so I popped out of the changing room and asked old friend if he though late husband would have approved? Before he could say 'yes!' stroppy sales assistant told me to get dressed and GO!
Sad thing is, old friend died two years later, about a month after our final boozy lunch (when we DIDN'T go shopping afterwards).